Page 3 of Ice Queen

I watch as he picks up the remote and presses a button that sends a bright light running back and forth along a bar on the table in front of me. “Follow it, let the memory come. Tell me what you see.”

My eyes move back and forth, following it like it's a man on the ice. “I see smoke, it's thick at first, but the wind moves it away from her.”

“That’s good, what else?” Dr. Williams asks. Scarlett's hand squeezes reassuringly as my eyes continue to track back and forth. The memory springs to life, placing me right in the center of the crash. It’s tangible here in a way it’s not always in my dreams. I can feel the heaviness that hung in the air, strangled by my desperation to do something, anything.

“M-markus.” Millie’s teeth chatter as she tries to remain calm. “I’m col-d-d-d.”

Her dark black hair is pulled up into a bun, but it’s disheveled in a way you never see from her. Her soulful brown eyes are filled with tears, panic swimming through them, yet they beg me not to freak out.

But calm isn’t something I feel right now. I’m trapped, my leg stuck under a piece of shrapnel while my best friend has a rod sticking out of her stomach. Blood covers the metal, dripping down to create a pool of red liquid, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

“Promise me you’ll live for us both.” She whispers, voice shaking while she tries to look at me, but the second she does, she lets her eyes fall, unable to take the pain I’m sure is etched on my face.

It might as well have been a gunshot in the eerily silent aftermath of the crash. “Mills, don’t say stuff like that. Please. You’re gonna make it. We’re both gonna make it. You can’t leave me. You promised.”

I watch as a tear rolls down her cheek. She is so damn brave, so strong. God, she’s everything I’m not. “I love you, Markus.” Her voice slurs at the end as her head slowly falls in front of her.

“No! Millie! NO!” I cry, “Look at me. Let me see those eyes. Stay with me. Please.”

“Shit,” I mumble, running my hand over my face.

“Estoy orgullosa de ti,⁠*” Lettie says, leaning her head against my shoulder as Monroe does the same on my other side. I lean into their strength and look back at Dr. Williams.

“I don’t understand,” I admit. I relive this day in my dreams more often than not. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.

Dr. Williams rolls his chair closer. “Bring up the image of the crash. Picture the worst part, what negative belief do you have that goes with it?”

“I don’t deserve to be the one who lived.” My answer is immediate. I make millions hitting people into plexiglass and chasing a rubber puck around frozen liquid on kitchen knives. Why was that worth living for?

“Go with that.” Dr. Williams raises the remote, pressing the button to send the light racing back and forth.

Nodding, I lean back on the couch, willing to try this again one more time. Millie’s lifeless body comes front and center, and I fight the urge to close my eyes, to shake the image from my mind, and sit with it like Dr. Williams asked.

Suddenly, we're not in the wreckage, we’re at the rink. Her teeth are still chattering, lips blue, but she’s skating around the ice. Alive. What would be defenders in real life are replaced with large pieces of metal. I jump in my seat, my mouth falling open as she moves toward a metal rod that looks eerily like the one that took her from me.

“Mills,” I whisper, panic bubbling in my stomach.

“Take a breath. What do you notice?” Dr. Williams asks.

I feel my eyes tighten on the light, following it faster, silently begging her to stay for just a bit longer.

“She’s… still cold. But now we’re on the ice. Why are we on the ice?”

She’s skating around the rink, no blood anywhere to be found. Something in my chest loosens as she smiles at me. But she’s still not here.

“I…” My mouth slams shut, jaw clenching as I fight to keep from blinking.

“Walk me through it,” Dr. Williams says.

I’m not sure how. This entire thing feels like one big hallucination. Like I’m looking down on my life from somewhere else.

“The cold.” I run my hands roughly across the tops of my thighs. “I hate the cold, I hear her teeth chattering, and I get angry.” Swallowing hard, I speak the truth I’ve never said out loud. “That it wasn’t me instead.”

“And where do you feel that?”

I clear my throat. “My chest, it… It gets tight.”

“Scan your body, what belief feels true now?” He asks, switching the light off.